Intimate Adversaries - Tom Hiddleston in Jaguar commercial character
by sherekahnsgirl
Summary: This is my first - and prolly my last - AU!Tom - Gangster!Tom. Our heroine, a Deputy D.A., gets felt up at a city function by a drunk Chief of Police - and she's rescued by someone she'd never expect to assume the role of hero. He visits her in her office the day afterwards, ostensibly to see if she's all right. Gangster!Tom, Erotica, Smutty Smut Smut, Sex, Light D/s


A/N:

18+ - Mature Audiences ONLY!

I've never done AU before, so please let me know if I've tagged it wrong or whatever.

One shot.

Pretty vague reference to a sexual assault, just so's you know.

Erotica, Smutty Smut Smut, Sex, Light D/s, Gangster!Tom

I stood immediately as soon as I noticed him - my long time adversary - and quickly wished I hadn't - he seemed to inspire that reaction in most people, and I didn't like lumping myself in with everyone else who seemed afraid of him.

Not that I wasn't, necessarily. I just wasn't fond of the idea of him seeing that in me, but now I was in a quandary : should I sit back down again and risk looking like a complete idiot?

As far as I was concerned, the only answer was a loud, "Hell, yes!"

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

He was there, standing in the doorway, looking annoyingly sexy, as usual, and watching me intently.

I was disturbed to realize that I had no idea how long he'd been there.

His smile wasn't, really. I doubted he did much of it, so it looked forced even when it probably wasn't.

"Good afternoon to you, too, Deputy D.A. Sevigny," he said, shouldering himself away from the doorway to close the door behind him and locking it with a deafening click, proceeding - as if he had all the time in the world - to close the blinds on one side of my office, and then the other, so that we were even more alone in this little cocoon he'd created than we already were today because no one but me ever came in on a Sunday.

He didn't come to a halt until he was standing at the side of my desk, ignoring the two relatively comfortable chairs that were in front of it as if observing such niceties as personal space was beneath him, his considerable height forcing me to crane my neck uncomfortably to look up at him.

Should have stayed standing.

My bad.

He leaned over, cupping my chin in his fingers and I thought for sure he was going to kiss me - I was all ready to bite his lips or his tongue - whatever body part conveniently presented itself - but then he moved past to press a gossamer soft kiss to the bruise that was faint but still noticeable on my jaw line.

With the grace of a dancer he hitched his hip onto the corner of my desk, one long, expensively clad leg draped entirely too close to me.

He rumbled, "Are you all right, Sophia?"

I knew what he meant, but wasn't about to answer him truthfully, to tell him that I'd slept last night with the lights on, terrified that my door was going to be busted down at any minute and I was going to be arrested on some kind of trumped up charges. To say nothing of the fact that certain parts of me were hurting, although I hadn't bothered to do much about it.

Not even cry, frankly.

Too scared, I guess.

And now I'd come to bury myself in the very work that had gotten me into trouble, somehow feeling safer here than at home, although, since he'd gotten into the building I was apparently mistaken about just how secure it was.

But then I couldn't put much past this hood. He wasn't like the majority of the others of his kind; that was how he had risen so far in his chosen profession. He was smart - smarter than those around him, and smarter than most of the people who were trying to put him away.

Except me.

But then I'd gone and made the probably fatal mistake of succumbing to his charm one evening when I'd had entirely too many dirty martinis and he had appeared at my elbow like a vengeful angel, dressed in his signature impeccably tailored black suit that hugged a body that was built to drive women crazy.

Lesser women, I had thought arrogantly at the time.

But I was wrong.

Dead wrong, probably.

That night about two weeks ago, I'd let him take me home, let him run those knowing hands over me, let him bring me to heights I hadn't seen with any man in longer than I would like to remember, if ever - not that I'd been dating much, especially lately. I was married to my work.

But Thomas Hiddleston was more than good enough to make me forget my job, my name and how to say anything other than fervent cries of his name, or "Please!" or "NOs!" that I _absolutely did not_ mean.

But he had stopped anyway - cruelly forcing me to admit that I had really meant "YES!" - before he'd continued that sensual torture I didn't think I could live without.

And now here he was, leaning casually against my desk when nothing about the man was in the least relaxed, looking at me as if the only thing he had to decide was just how he was going to fuck me - how long, how hard, and how much he was going to make me beg for release before granting it to me.

"I'm fine, thank you, Mr. Hiddleston," I answered primly, trying to cross my legs belatedly, but I was sitting so close to him that there wasn't room for all of our legs behind my desk and he, of course, not being a gentleman of any sort, didn't move a muscle to try to accommodate my need for even that small, inconsequential protection against him.

Instead, he brought both legs between mine, forcing them even further open, rucking my skirt up dangerously high without having touched me. The back of my chair was already jammed against the window sill behind me, and there was nowhere for me to go to get away from him.

" _Don't_ lie to me, Sophia. You really wouldn't like the penalty I'd exact from you for doing so." That long index finger tipped my chin up again. "You look exhausted. I would be willing to bet you didn't sleep much last night." He looked chagrinned, although I couldn't fathom why. "I should have sent someone home with you last night - I had an important business appointment or I would have brought you there and stayed with you myself -"

"Over my dead body," I snorted.

All that got me was another ghost of a smile and a raised eyebrow. "No, never yours. Anderson's, though. Eventually."

Warren Anderson was the Chief of Police - not the cleanest of city employees and one dangerous dude in his own right - and he had the whole force at his command. He had the great misfortune of getting handsy with me last night - hence the contusion on my jaw - and others elsewhere on my person - in the rather secluded hallway beyond the bathrooms at a function we both attended.

That all _three_ of us attended, although Anderson was the only one to exit it in an ambulance - alive, for the moment, but definitely hurting.

It wasn't the first time, and it probably wouldn't be the last, that he'd groped me, and he had a pretty tight relationship with the mayor, so my complaints about him got swept under the rug.

I was handling him - while he was manhandling me - and I wasn't scared at all. He was too drunk to do much beyond pinching places he shouldn't and grabbing onto me much too tightly when he nearly lost his balance making his pass.

But then, all of a sudden, he had been lifted away from me, shaken like a rag doll and sent sprawling against the wall from which he eventually stepped back, dazed, drunk and stunned at the unforeseen turn of events.

"Stay there," Tom had growled at me, after giving me a cursory glance and deciding - I guess - that I was mostly okay.

Far be it for me to take orders from much of anyone - one of my many faults - much less a known gangster. Not much interested in who came out the victor in the testosterone fest I knew was about to ensue, I turned and left as quickly as I could, but not before I heard the sound of fists hitting flesh - repeatedly.

And the grunts and groans that floated to my ears as I slipped back into the main banquet room were too slurred and uncontrolled to be Hiddleston's. As far as I knew it, the man never touched a drop and he was always in control of everyone and everything around him.

I had been confronted by that fact intimately a few weeks ago. His control freak tendencies had proven quite combustible with my own desire to be tightly controlled. I thought he was going to make my skin melt right off my body with how hot he got me before finally bringing me over the edge he'd had me teetering on for so long.

My entire body spasmed at the thought and I had to wrench myself rudely back to the situation at hand.

That was when I noticed the red, raw scrapes on the knuckles of his right hand and I couldn't stop myself from reaching out to take it in my hand, turning it over so that I could examine them more closely. The sight of those bruises contrasted sharply with his otherwise expertly manicured - usually better than mine - hands. Hell, the undeniable traces of his recent fight only added to an already seething masculinity that his expensive suit fought to contain.

And I could hardly forget the fact that he'd gotten them in my defense. Tom didn't have to get his hands dirty any more - he had underlings to do the heavy lifting for him, and yet he hadn't hesitated to pull a man who - supposedly - wanted him in jail more than I did - off of me and throw him across the room.

Of course he had made his bones as a particularly ruthless enforcer for a capo he had long since replaced - under highly suspicious circumstances - and I guessed that that kind of talent - such as it was - wasn't the kind of thing one forgot.

"You left," he stated pointedly.

I cleared my throat, wishing I could clear my head as easily around him. "I did."

"After I'd told you to stay."

I snorted. "What am I, a German Shepherd?"

"I merely wanted to ascertain to what extent he had hurt you."

"Before you tried to kill him?"

His eyes narrowed and suddenly I found myself flattened against the length of him as he stood and hauled me up in the same swift movement, growling unrepentantly, "He _touched_ what's _mine_."

With that his fingers began deftly opening each of the tiny buttons on my blouse and when I tried to stop him I found my hands trapped behind me. "Thomas, stop this. Now." I was aiming for strong and forceful, but missed the mark horribly, especially since just the thought of his hands on me had me panting through my requisite protestation.

Those dark eyes never left mine as he didn't so much as pause at my words, peeling my shirt open and making me severely regret not having donned a bra this morning.

But I was supposed to be alone in my office. No one else was going to see me. I was entirely too well endowed to go braless often, and when I thought I might have the opportunity, I took it.

Not after this, but it was closing the barn door -

My thoughts - every single last one of them - ceased as soon as his lips wrapped around an already turgid nipple, suckling strongly, forcing it to peak even further.

As he relinquished it reluctantly, he murmured against my flesh, "As much as I liked seeing these in that red lace bra you were wearing the other night, I think I prefer them like this." He had kissed and licked and sucked his way to the other breast and latched onto its nipple just as eagerly, taking in as much of my flesh as he could and pressing it against the roof of his mouth as he flicked the very tip.

Both of us felt the shudder that ran through my body, and, before I could say anything his big arm swept across my desk, sending folders and papers and staplers and pens flying until it was as bare as he seemed intent on making me, slipping my blouse completely off before lifting me smoothly, almost elegantly, to lay me back on top of my own desk as if he was a Disney Prince leading a Princess out onto the dance floor.

A Disney Prince who then proceeded to nudge the Princess's thighs apart, forcing her to accommodate his imposing, intimate presence between them.

As much as my body wanted me to give in, to let go and let him have me, knowing he would bring me to a howling, shivering crescendo, I had to stop him now, before this went any further.

Didn't I?

"Tom, no -" I breathed, not getting the volume I wanted as my body conspired against me.

But he didn't ravish me immediately as I had expected.

Instead, he had seen the fingerprints that Warren had left on each of my upper arms, as well as the distinct sign of teeth marks to the side of my left breast.

He was literally vibrating with anger as he proceeded to relieve me of the rest of my clothes, brushing away my attempts at stopping him, making me about as effective as a butterfly who was intent on annoying a dragon.

I felt like a horse he was trying to decide whether or not to buy, or, more aptly, a slave on the block. He inspected every bit of the front of me, applying touchingly tender kisses to all of the spots he found, almost cooing over the bite marks, then turned me - surprisingly gently - over. There were more purple splotches - continuations of the ones on my hips that were unmistakably fingerprints as well as a few kind of scratchy marks across my back where he had reached around to try to unhook my bra.

When he turned me over again, with exquisite care, I could see that despite the gentleness with which he had bestowed those kisses, his face had darkened to a truly frightening degree, making me swallow hard.

"If I had seen these last night he'd already be dead. I should have seen the job done then."

Before I got a chance to refute his statement, his hands caught my hips and tugged me tightly to him, to the edge of the desk, then I heard the clinking sounds of a belt being unbuckled. As his fingers curled around the back of my neck, bringing me up to meet his mouth, I felt his naked length unfurl against my body's most vulnerable point, the one I couldn't even begin to defend against him because he was holding my legs wide open just standing there, and there was certainly no way I could move him.

And, to my great shame, I didn't really want to.

He proceeded to make me not want to fight him, catching my eye and holding my head still so that I couldn't look away as he began to press himself into me. " _Nobody_ touches what's _mine_ ," he ground out.

The man was enormous; I had had a hard time accepting him weeks ago and I couldn't imagine it was going to be much easier this time, either.

Only it was worse this time, because we _both_ knew how much I craved his presence within me, not _despite_ his size, but _because_ of it. I adored how he filled me, stretched me, almost hurting me but not quite, and he knew that. He _made_ me feel him, made me feel all of me was possessed and occupied by him, every little movement he made demanding my attention as no other man before him had.

And he watched me - his big hand splayed at the small of my back, keeping me still for his invasion. As he took more and more of me, sank further into me, I couldn't help but become slightly distressed at the way he was forcing me to open around him, whimpering but moaning in the same breath, not convincing him to let up the pressure in the least as his hips rocked forward until I had taken all of him, and he had most definitely _taken_ all of me.

I tried to squirm away, writhing like a bug on the end of a pin until he gathered my wrists into that hand behind me and stilled my movements, his mouth trailing slowly down my neck, the sounds of his lips and tongue tasting and teasing my flesh only adding to the ache between my legs that blotted everything in my world out except for the two of us - except for him and what he was doing to me, how easily he was devastating me, reducing me to my lowest, most primitive state of existence - pleasure-seeker, hedonist - and reveling in the fact that he could do that.

When he began to move within me, I could no more have suppressed my ragged groan than I could have bested him in a physical fight. I was overmatched in every possible way - and enjoying every single second of it.

His hand wasn't idle, either, seeking and easily finding the little nub that craved his fingertips like my lungs craved air, rising and swelling as they brushed over it, his mouth drinking in the cacophony of gasps and cries and moans he made damned sure I couldn't control.

He began to fuck me with deep, sharp thrusts that had me crying out with each one as the hand between my legs began to insist I yield to the ecstasy it was bringing to me.

His voice was an aural aphrodisiac. " _Cum_ , Sophia. Do as you're told and surrender to me. I'm not going to stop until you do - you know me. You _know_ I won't. You have no choice in this - none at all. You are mine - whether you're willing to admit it or not yet - and I _will_ have your pleasure."

As he drove me inexorably past my ability to resist him - not that there was much anyway - he whisper-chanted against my temple, "I will have you. All of you."

"No, Tom, please -" I was barely able to get out.

His grin should have given me pause but I was much too far gone. "Oh, _yes_ , Sophia, you will. _Cum. For. Me_." He was fucking me mercilessly now, easily holding me still for hips that were pistoning that rock hard cock into me as he continued to slip his fingertips around and over the top of my clit. I couldn't get away from it - couldn't get away from him - couldn't get away from the raging orgasm that he was building within me.

And finally, when I could bear it no longer, my body gave him what he wanted, what he - his mouth, his hands, his cock - had been demanding from me all along.

My submission.

My surrender.

My ecstasy.

I threw my head back and would have screamed, but I found my lips covered by his instead and I trumpeted my pleasure into his mouth as, seconds later, he did the same to me, octaves lower, but just as primitively, just as primally.

He held me tight while I spasmed uncontrollably around him, milking him dry, his fingers never ceasing to caress me, although more gently than before in deference to my heightened state, but still demanding a response that my body was only too happy to give him as he brought me to the very same ecstasy again and again, only ceasing when I went limp in self-defense.

I heard him chuckle against the top of my head as I collapsed within his arms, still in the throes of the last peak he'd made me climb. My body hummed and sparked, despite my exhaustion, and I wondered if it would ever really recover from him.

The man was dangerous, in more ways than one.

He lay me back with great care so that he could adjust his own clothing, then gathered me gently to him again.

I shivered in his arms, and he immediately doffed his suit coat and put it around my bare shoulders. I was completely enveloped in his body heat, as well his the very scent of him - hot, hard male mixed with earthy cologne.

It didn't help my condition in the least, warming me up in entirely the wrong way.

"You're still shivering," he commented, holding me tighter.

I somehow managed not to tell him it was his fault. The man didn't need any ego boosts from me.

"Are you okay?" he asked, forcing me to look at him.

I was, however, apparently completely incapable of _not_ saying, "I'm still contracting."

I think it was the first genuine smile I'd ever seen from him, and, to his great credit, it was not at all cocky or vain.  
"Let's get you back into your clothes and get you home," he suggested, already reaching for my shirt.

I looked around me at the mess he had created in his haste to have me. "But I still have work -"

He began buttoning the very blouse he had unbuttoned moments ago, staring into my eyes as he said in a tone that brooked no dissent, "No, you don't. You have to come home with me, because I'm nowhere _near_ finished with you yet."


End file.
